Playing with Hearts
by StarProphecy7279
Summary: In an attempt to give his life some hint of meaning again, Gilbert Beilschmidt makes a bet with his best friend that he can get the next girl he sees into bed with him before the end of the year. Unfortunately for him, that girl ends up being the least appealing woman in the world: one Miss Chiara Vargas. What a disaster! AU Genderbend twins. Het!Prumano. Full summary inside.
1. Chapter 1 A Friendly Wager

A/N: I have ADD. Can you tell? Yes another one. The good news is, this is the last one I plan on starting for a while. Read and enjoy while I attempt to write my novel!

Summary: In an attempt to give his life some hint of meaning again, Gilbert Beilschmidt makes a bet with his best friend that he can get the next girl he sees in bed with him before the end of the year. Unfortunately for Gilbert, that girl happens to be the least appealing woman in the world: one Miss Chiara Vargas. What a disaster! Now, not only is Gilbert concerned with his abysmal health, he is also resigned to the task of courting a woman he can't stand and who in turn, loathes him. How could this situation possibly get any worse? This is an AU were the Nyotalias exist alongside the hetalia characters we know and love. The vast majority of nations require both a male and female persona. Only tiny nations, like, Sealand for example require only one. The main pairing will be Het!Prumano but there are mentions of several other pairings. So fear not my Spamano lovers :D

Warnings: Foul language and scenes of a graphic sexual nature. There will be lemons later on.

And thus, we begin. Enjoy.

Chapter 1: A Friendly Wager

* * *

Gilbert Beilschmidt was dying.

I know. Quite a way to begin a story. But it's the simple and complete truth of the matter. It had been coming on for decades: ever since the Kingdom of Prussia had been dissolved after World War II his and his younger sister, Maria's, health had been deteriorating, reducing the twins of East Germany to little more than a burden to their younger brother and sister who so desperately wanted the two of them to live. The both of them staying alive indefinitely was not an option, especially after 2011 The fight that had ensued over who would claim a micro-Prussia founded in Canada, a piece of land, too small to require the control of both a male and female persona, rocked the house in Germany to its very core. It was only after several days of shouting matches and tears that Maria finally agreed: she would be the one to represent Micro-Prussia, leaving her older brother to wither away in sickness and eventually die. But you see, an ex-Nation is as immortal as he chooses to be and for the most part Gilbert had managed to keep himself in good enough spirits to remain in reasonable health for the year that followed the micro-nation incident. Recently however… things had really been taking a turn for the worst.

Which is where the story begins. It was early in the morning, just after dawn to be exact, in June and Ludwig Beilschmidt had just made his way downstairs to make his family the coffee they would all surely need to stay awake at the world meeting. It was then he saw his brother passed out on the living room sofa, the empty bottle lying on its side on the floor, shining in the early morning sun. Ludwig sighed at the sight, pinching the bridge of his thin nose in irritation. This was the third time this week he had come downstairs to find his brother in this state. It was impossibly frustrating. Ludwig knew what the problem was—a certain Miss Hungary currently wanted nothing to do with Gilbert—but this was no way to handle it, particularly with the circumstances the way they were. If Gilbert continued on this path, he would not survive the year. The thought alone made Ludwig shudder with cold dread; he did not even want to think about what would happen to him or his sisters if his brother were to… he couldn't even think the word. Gilbert had to get better. He just had to find a reason to live.

"Bruder," Ludwig called softly, moving to stand over the unconscious lump. "Bruder come on, we don't have time for this today."

A soft moan escaped from the older brother's lips and a pale white hand came to cover his still closed eyes The voice was bothering him, irritating him to the point that, had he been able to move, he would have reached for his gun and blown off the head of whoever was talking. He'd been out late the night before, looking for a human woman to entice into his bed and maybe help fill the hole that one Miss Hungary had left in his heart several months previously. He had been, yet again, unsuccessful, unsurprisingly. His hangover was making his already abysmal health feel a thousand times worse.

"Bruder!"

"Get bent, West," Gilbert muttered, rolling over to turn his back on his brother and burry his face against the cushions.

"Bruder, I am not going to do this with you today. We don't have time. Get. Up."

Gilbert ignored him completely, intending to go back to sleep but unfortunately his strict and serious baby sister, Monika, had other plans.

Out of nowhere, he was screaming, his hands held tight over his ears attempting to block out the unbelievable, screeching sound of the airhorn being held to his ear.

"Monika!" he shouted, rounding on his sister, outraged. "What the hell?!"

For someone that had just held an air horn to her brother's ear, Monika appeared rather unfazed. She simply stood there, her broad-shouldered arms crossed over her large chest straining against the seams of her trench coat, the glare under her short bangs meeting her brother's without shame.

"Ludwig is right. We don't have time for this. Get up now."

"Has anyone ever told the two of you to get the sticks out of your asses?"

"NOW!" Ludwig and Monika shouted in unison.

"Alright, alright, Gott…." Another moan was pulled from his lips as he sat up, a hand going to his head as the elegant room before him swam in his vision.

"Don't you dare throw up on this carpet!"

Monika's shriek, however were drowned out by the hacking coughing fit that Gilbert had suddenly succumbed to. As the hacks got worse, growing to the point they rocked Gilbert's entire body, Monika and Ludwig exchanged a look. They both knew what the other was thinking: it was happening again. Gilbert's depression was forcing his illness to progress. The last time this had happened, Gilbert had grown so ill; he'd slipped into a coma and very nearly died. If Gilbert didn't cheer up soon… they didn't want to think about it.

"Bruder… are you okay?" Ludwig's tone had changed so drastically, it was as if he were a different person. The concern in his voice was so overwhelming, Gilbert may have cried… had tears not already been forming at the corners of his red eyes from his coughs.

"I-I'm—" he couldn't finish. His hacking coughs tearing at his throat made it impossible to get the words out.

"Go get him some water," Ludwig said to Monika, who ran off to the kitchen to obey as Ludwig began pounding on his brother's back in an attempt to help him clear his throat.

When Gilbert finally pulled his hand away from his mouth, it was to find it coated in sticky, red blood.

"Don't you give me that look," Gilbert demanded, upon meeting Ludwig's pitying, blue eyes. "I'm fine."

"Bruder—"

"I said I'm fine," Gilbert insisted struggling to get to his feet without passing out. "This happens all the time now."

"Somehow, that isn't reassuring," said Ludwig, reaching out a hand to help steady his brother on his feet. "You're really beginning to get bad again. I know you're still hurt from what Elizabeta—"

"Don't talk to me about her!" Gilbert snapped. The last thing he needed right now was to think of that vile woman. It would only make his health worse.

"That's my point," said Ludwig, "if you don't move on from this soon, you'll—"

"I am not going to die!" Gilbert insisted. "I'm too awesome for that."

"But, Gilbert—"

"I have to go get ready for the meeting," said Gilbert shortly, pushing past his brother to get to the stairs.

"Gilbert, we can't ignore this!"

But that's exactly what he did as he trudged up the stairs and into the hall bathroom intent on splashing cold water on his face. Before he could reach the sink, however, a head rush forced him to grab the doorframe for support, his knuckles going—if possible—even whiter as he gripped it for dear life.

"Dammit, not again," he mumbled as his head spun. He couldn't take this anymore. He couldn't handle being this sick. It was unbearable on both him and his family. He couldn't stand it.

He hobbled over to the sink, leaning against the porcelain in an attempt to stay upright. Despite what he had told his brother, he knew if this kept up, he very well may not survive the year. The thought terrified him. What would happen to his brother and sisters if they lost him? He shook his aching head slightly to rid it of these thoughts; now was not the time.

"You need to pull yourself together," Gilbert murmured to his reflection. He had to get a handle on himself or the consequences could be dire. The last thing he wanted was to abandon his family. He was the oldest, the one meant to take care of them all. That was precisely the reason he had made Maria take Micro-Prussia. He didn't want to think about the repercussions of leaving them. No, no matter what happened or how depressed he got, he wouldn't allow that to happen. He had a family to take care of.

"Get it together, Gilbert," he said to himself firmly. "Get it together before it's too late.

* * *

The same morning sun, shining brighter due to the part of the world, was creeping its way steadily through the windows of a large house in Rome. Little did the only still-sleeping occupant know the still silence was about to be broken in the cruelest way possible.

"Chiara! [pronounce _Key-ara_] Get out of the bathroom!"

Feliciano did not want to wake up this early. He did not want to have to deal with his brother and sister's fighting right now. He rolled over, pulling his pillow over his head in an attempt to block out the noise. His sister's voice, however, was still heard loud and clear.

"There's more than one bathroom, idiot!"

"Not with my shaving stuff in it!"

"First come, first serve!"

"Will you just hurry it up?!"

Feliciano groaned. Today was just another day in the house of Italy; Chiara and Lovino were up first, fighting over something or another, waking up the younger two with their sharp words and raised voices. It was like this every single day. Feliciano desperately wished for just one day of peace and cooperation between his family; just one day where Chiara and Lovino weren't screaming at each other, especially over—

"What? You think putting a bunch of make up on and doing your hair is going to make him want you? He's after me, Chiara, get over it!"

Okay. Time to get up. Now was when things were about to turn very ugly. As soon as Antonio was brought into a fight, things escalated to a dangerous level if no one intervened. There had even been fist fights in the past.

With another groan, Feliciano rolled out of bed, rubbing his eyes wearily and made his way out of the bedroom and down the hall towards the bathroom.

"Lovino, you don't have to be mean…."

His twin sister Alíce [pronounced _A-leese_] had already arrived on the scene of the argument.

"Shut up and stay out of it."

"Ve~ Lovi, please don't start this…," said Feliciano sleepily.

"I'm not starting anything!" Lovino shouted. "And for god's sake, put some clothes on!"

Feliciano winced at the angry tone he should have been used to by now. His brother was a naturally angry person.

"Fuck you," said Chiara throwing the door open and marching up to glower in her twin brother's face, brown eyes alight with fire. Lovino didn't even blink.

"I know someone who wants to," he said unabashedly.

"Why, you-!"

Alíce managed to grab hold of her just in time, wrapping her arms around Chiara's waist and pulling her away from Lovino just before her fist collided with his jaw. How Alíce managed to hold someone struggling with such vigor would always remain a mystery to Feliciano, but he didn't have much time to think about it. As Chiara kicked and screamed for her sister to let her go, Lovino started forward, pushing the sleeve of his right arm up in a show of power.

"You wanna start something, Chiara?!" he shouted at her, as Feliciano darted forward to wrap his slender arms around Lovino's waist in an attempt to hold him back from giving Chiara another black eye.

"Feliciano, don't grab me when you're naked!" shout Lovino, turning his anger on his younger brother.

"I wouldn't have to if you'd stop fighting!" he exclaimed.

"We wouldn't fight if _Lovino_ didn't always push me so far," screamed Chiara

"Oh, that's right, it's always _my_ fault!"

"Stop it!" shrieked Alíce, still fighting with Chiara who was all but biting her sister in an attempt to escape. "We don't have time for this today! Can't we all just try and get along until after the world meeting?"

Lovino and Chiara completely ignored her, each still struggling to get at the other, wanting so badly to vent just a little bit of their pent up frustration out on each other.

"Ve, you're acting like children!" said Feliciano. "We're the younger siblings, you should be setting an example for us."

His words fell on deaf ears as his siblingsf continued to struggle to throttle one another. Miserably, his eyes met those of his twin. With a sigh she nodded. Without a word, Alíce pulled a wet rag out of her pocket and placed it over her sister's nose and mouth. Chiara shrieked one more time in rage, knowing what was happening before her eyes rolled back and she went still in Alíce's arms.

All was silent for a moment before…

"Seriously, where the hell do you two even get chloroform?" asked Lovino, shoving his naked brother away from him and straightening his jacket.

"We have our sources," said Alíce, folding the rag back up and stuffing it into her pocket. "We wouldn't have to use it if you two would act like adults."

"Whatever," said Lovino carelessly stepping over his unconscious sister in order to get to the bathroom. "You two go get ready or we'll be late," he added over his shoulder before shutting the door, banging Chiara's head in the process.

Feliciano sighed.

"Do you think we'll be able to get through the day without a fist fight?" he asked his twin.

"I really hope so," she said, quietly, glancing down at her unconscious sister, feeling a slight twinge of guilt at having knocked her out. "But you know how they get when Antonio is brought up."

"I wish he would just choose one of them."

"He's clueless," said Alíce with a roll of her eyes. "He has no idea either of them wants him."

Feliciano heaved another sigh. "He has the power to tear our family apart and doesn't even know it."

Alíce nodded.

"I just hope he never figures it out…."

* * *

"Ugh… my head. Why the hell did you feel the need to use that stuff on me again?" Chiara grumbled as the family trudged through the lobby of the ornate hotel, heals clicking on the gold tile beneath their feet.

"You wouldn't calm down," said Alíce, unabashedly. "It was knock you out or let you and Lovino kill each other."

"I'm a fan of option number two," said Lovino, crossly.

"Ve~ don't be mean, Lovi."

"Shut up."

"Italy!"

The four siblings stopped and looked over their shoulder for the source of the voice.

"There's my favorite country next to Spain!"

Chiara and Lovino both felt their hearts skip a beat as they watched the curly-haired Spaniard prancing towards them, his eyes bright with excitement, his face split into a wide grin. Heat spread to Chiara's cheeks as the green eyes met her own, and she looked away in spite of herself. She never had the courage to look into those eyes, those beautiful green eyes she loved so much, for more than a second at a time.

"Hello, my favorite little minion," said Antonio when he had reached them, throwing an arm around Lovino's shoulders.

"I'm not your minion anymore, Antonio," said Lovino coolly. Chiara couldn't help but feel envy lick her insides at how easy it was for her brother to talk to Antonio, though admittedly he had had more practice. Lovino had lived with Antonio for well over a century back when Southern Italy had been belonged to Spain. Chiara had had the misfortune of living with Antonio's spastic sister, Carmen. To this day, Chiara could barely stand to be in the same room as Carmen.

"Haha, you'll always be my special little underling, Lovi," said Antonio brightly. "And how is adorable North Italy?" he added to Feliciano and Alíce.

"Ve~ hello, big brother Toni!" said Feliciano excitedly.

"We're okay, just sleepy because Big brother and sister were fighting again this morning."

Chiara wanted to slap her. Good god, her sister was an over-sharing idiot. Couldn't she figure out what was private?

Antonio's merry laugh, however, quickly had her anger melting away. She adored Antonio's laugh; it was just so melodic and beautiful and God she wished she could be the one to cause it someday. Maybe if she wasn't so goddamn shy around the clueless, yet unbelievable handsome, idiot."

"Fighting again? Now why can't you two learn to get along and love each other," Antonio said in mock admonishment, before chuckling. "Oh, Chiara," he added. Chiara felt herself go, if possible, even redder, forcing herself to glance up into his sparkling eyes.

"Would you like to have lunch with me today?" he asked. Chiara nearly fainted. Had he really just asked that? She must be dreaming.

"I-I… yes… that would be nice," she stammered, eyes trained on the golden angel beneath her feet, her face glowing like a Christmas tree.

"Great," said Antonio brightly, "Meet me here at lunch break and we'll go get something good to eat… or at least as good as possible considering we're in America."

"O-okay…."

With another smile, Antonio's tanned hand slipped under her chin and slicked his wrist upwards, giving her skin a light touch, a gentle chuckle left his lips as she froze in shock and she grew so light-headed she feared she might faint.

"I'll see you then, bella," he said softly, before dropping his hand and scurrying off to the meeting hall after his sister.

Chiara breathed a heavy sigh, a huge smile splitting her face as she watched the man she had loved for so long run off. Cockily, she threw a smirk over her shoulder at her red-faced, jealous brother, meeting his glare without shame. What did it matter if Lovino was angry? Antonio had asked her out! Life was perfect.

"Well, let's haul or things up to our hotel room and get ready, shall we?" she said, marching off, a smug smirk on her face and her nose in the air. Feliciano and Alíce exchanged a worried look. This could easily be the beginning of the end of their family. If Antonio chose either one of them, things within their household would escalate to near catastrophic levels. Feliciano threw a glance back at his brother, feeling pang of sorrow on Lovino's behalf as he stared moodily at the floor. His brother or his sister's heart? That was the decision Antonio was making. Feliciano sighed, wishing sincerely for a way for everyone to win this game

* * *

Chiara Vargas and Gilbert Beilschmidt had next to nothing in common but that day, neither one of them could focus on the meeting, Gilbert because his head was still killing him and Chiara because she was too busy staring at a certain Spanish stud. The first half of the meeting passed without much event, other than the usual of Alfred proposing obnoxious, impossible plans, which Arther shot down, causing Francis to jump in and call both of them stupid, forcing Ludwig to demand that they stay on topic and stop acting like children. *inhales deeply*

Everyone was more than ready for their hour long lunch break, exhausted from the four hours of arguing and childish bickering. Finally able to chat about their personal lives, the nations flocked out of the crowed meeting hall and down to the lobby.

Chiara hovered anxiously by the golden, revolving door to the hotel, waiting, sweating, and praying that she wouldn't screw this up. She had dreamt of this day for years and years, yet instead of excitement, she stood there filled with dread at all the things she might do wrong. What if she said something stupid? What if she spilled food down her dress at lunch? What if-?

"Chiara."

She jumped maybe a foot in the air as Antonio's voice broke through her rambling thoughts and her head snapped up to meet his gorgeous, smiling face.

"Hi," he said, simply.

"H-hi," why did she always have to stutter around him?

"Are you ready to go?" Antonio asked her, kindly.

"Y-yes."

And so they set off, leaving the hotel in search of something mildly edible in New York City. Their hopes were not high.

"So how have you been, Chiara?" asked Antonio when they came to a small pizza place about a mile from the hotel. "I haven't spoken to you in so long. You've gotten to be so beautiful."

Chiara's blush spread right to the roots of her hair.

"Thank you," she said shyly, unable to meet Antonio's eye. "I've been fine. Just fighting with my brother as usual."

Antonio chuckled, causing her heart to flutter up to her throat.

"Why do you two fight so often, anyway?"

"J-just… differences of opinions, I suppose."

_Mainly because I think you're best for me and he thinks you're best for him. _She would rather die than admit those words out loud.

"How is Lovino?" Antonio asked as they sat down at a dingy table in the corner of the restaurant.

"Fine, I guess," she said shortly, eager to get the subject off her brother.

"Can I ask you something, Chiara?" Antonio asked, leaning towards her, elbows on the table, bright eyes twinkling even in the dim light.

"Y-yes," she said, her heart beating wildly. This was it. Antonio was about to admit how he felt, something she'd always hoped for but never dared to believe. This was really happening. On the edge of her eyes, she felt tears of joy forming. Good god, this was real!

"Chiara… for a long time now, I've been in love with…,"

She swallowed deeply, trying to hold back the tears, and smiled widely at him, ready to return the wonderful notion he was about to convey, so excited she nearly missed the next word.

"Lovino."

And just like that, it was gone, the balloon of happiness she had felt just moments ago popped, vanished into thin air. Lovino? Had he just said he loved Lovino? Her heart pounded like a drum against her chest, leaving her to wonder how this was possible when it was in so many pieces. Lovino. Antonio was in love with Lovino. Not her, her brother. It had always been a dream, a wish that would never come true. All the fights, the arguments she and Lovino had had over him over the years were for nothing. Lovino had won, hands down. And Chiara had been left alone in the cold with no one to save her.

Antonio's mouth was still moving but Chiara couldn't make out the words over the sound of her own sorrow and devastation. Her heartbeat in her ears seemed to be beating out an echo of his words: _Lovino. I've been in love with Lovino._

The tears fell from her eyes but they were no longer of joy, they were simply a sign of her weakness, how quickly she was falling apart. She couldn't take this. She couldn't sit here in front of him, watching the mouth she had so longed to kiss move, the green eyes she adored, suddenly shining with concern for her. But not the kind of concern she needed from them.

"Chiara, what's wrong?" he asked.

Clueless. This idiot was clueless. He always had been. He'd never been aware of her feelings for him and now he never would and never needed to. He had made his choice and he had chosen to break her. Without a word, she jumped up from the table, turned on her heel and ran as quickly as she could from the restaurant, doing her best not to scream out her agony as Antonio called after her, confused and concerned for his friend. Just his friend. Never anything more. The thought alone, broke her down even further and for a moment she really thought she would be sick. Instead, she ran faster, the tears streaming down her face as she dashed back to the hotel, desperate to reach the privacy of her room where she could fall apart without any witnesses.

* * *

"Mon ami, you look terrible."

"Thank you, Francis," Gilbert said irritably as he sat in a chair in the lobby, holding his head as it throbbed agonizingly beneath his fingers.

"Mon cheri, Gilbert, have you been drinking again?"

"No, I took a bullet to the head."

It honestly felt that way, Gilbert thought, as his head gave another painful throb and his stomach clenched just begging him to vomit.

"Oh, my Gilbert," Francis said in an overly dramatic sympathetic voice, slipping an arm around his friend. "Keep away from the bottle. You should just have sex, like me."

"I've been trying," said Gilbert miserably. "Human women are harder to pick up these days. All about class and such. Those bitches."

"Honhon, losing our touch, are me, Mon ami?" Francis simpered slyly.

"I'm not losing my touch," Gilbert said with a glare which he immediately regretted when it added to the pain in his head. "It's the women I'm going after."

"Ohon, perhaps you should run after a nice Nation, then?"

"There's only one nation I'm interested in…." Gilbert muttered softly, not looking at Francis.

Francis sighed.

"Gilbert, perhaps you really should considering going after someone else. It might be good for you. Besides," he added craftily, "You obviously need to touch up on your sexual appeal."

"Please, I've lost none of my sexual appeal. I bet I could get any girl I wanted in bed within six months."

"Ohon, a bet? This sounds like it could be interesting," said Francis, stroking his beard in thought.

"Haha, you really want to go there?" Gilbert asked, smirking at his friend. "Okay then. I bet you a hundred euros that I can bed the next girl I see before the end of the year."

"Alright," said Francis, holding out his hand. "It will be your lost."

"Oh no, Fran," said Gilbert getting to his feet and taking Francis's hand, an evil smirk alighting his face, "It'll most definitely be yours."

"The next woman you see," Francis said looking over Gilbert's shoulder, laughter in his voice. "I think not."

"What are you-?"

Before he could finish his question, something slammed into his shoulder, knocking him to the side as it ran past in an eager attempt to get to the elevator. Gilbert's red eyes widened in shock and horror as he recognized the curly brown hair cascading over slender, olive-skinned shoulders. Oh no… that couldn't be….

"That doesn't count," Gilbert said quickly.

"Au contrair," said Francis, through a laugh. "You said the next girl you see. Mon ami, you must sleep with Chiara Vargas if you want to win this bet."

"Oh come on!" Gilbert shouted, "There's no way I can or would want to fuck Chiara Vargas!"

"Then I win," said Francis, raising his hand as if to take something from Gilbert. "Hand it over."

Gilbert looked at him for a moment, glaring before a frustrated groan broke the silence and he sat back down, his head in his hands. How in the hell could he possibly bring himself to have sex with _her_. They got along about as well as Arther Kirkland got along with Ivan Braginski. She would never jump into bed with him and convincing her to through old fashioned dating would be a nightmare. Good god, he had a mission ahead of him. A miserable mission. Why had he decided to make this bet again? Dear God, how could this get any worse?

* * *

A/N: Not really my best writing but I just had to get this one out there. I was so excited about this one, though I doubt it will be very popular. Leave a review if you want to see updates. Later!


	2. Chapter 2: Italian Princess

A/N: I updated. Love me!

* * *

Chapter 2:

_Okay, how am I going to do this? _Gilbert asked himself, walking along the hall on the fifth floor of the hotel. He had stopped Feliciano to ask which room the Italies were in, certain that was where the sobbing Chiara was headed. Obviously, Chiara Vargas was not the type of girl to just jump into bed with someone who asked. _Dammit, why couldn't it have been Françoise or Analiese? _thought Gilbert miserably. Of course, it had to be a girl he'd actually have to work for.

"Fuck…," he mumbled, trudging along in a fuming rage. This was going to be absolutely miserable! First of all, this girl was Italian. That meant her tastes would be impossibly expensive. Dating her would probably cost more than the hundred euro bet anyway. It was only a matter of pride that kept Gilbert resigned to this arduous task. And on top of all of this, how was he supposed to convince _Chiara Vargas_ to go out with him in the first place?! Everyone knew Chiara was after Antonio… everyone except Antonio, that is. Gah! How was he going to do this?

Fuming he knocked on the door, crossed his arms and waited for a reply.

"Go away!" was what he got. With a roll of his eyes he rapped his knuckles on the door again.

"I said go away!"

Ignoring the request, he cautiously turned the knob on the door, testing it. It appeared to be unlocked. Without further hesitation, he turned the knob and pushed the door open.

"Ya know, when I'm upset, I stop being sad and just be awesome instead," he said more smoothly than he felt, leaning against the door, his hand still on the knob. Chiara, who was lying on the bed, her back to the door visibly jumped and shot up to a sitting position, looking over her shoulder in shock.

"What the hell?!" she demanded, running the back of her hand over her eyes in an attempt to remove the tears still lingering on her face. "What are _you_ doing here? Get out!"

"Noticed your discontent. Thought someone should come by and make sure you were okay," Gilbert lied, hoping she didn't throw something at him.

"Well, I'm fine," she spat, clearly unaware of the mascara and eyeliner running down her face. "Now get out before I call security."

"No, need for that, _princess_, I'm only here out of concern. What's the matter? Break a nail?"

He ducked as the vase that had been sitting on the bedside table was flung mercilessly at his head. Huh. That looked expensive.

"Seriously, though, what's wrong?" Gilbert asked, attempting to keep the irony in his voice to a minimum.

Chiara jumped to her feet, glowering and stomped up to Gilbert, so close they would have been nose to nose had she been a few inches taller. Actually, he'd never really been close enough to her to notice how short she was. The top of her head barely brushed the bottom of his nose, which was saying something given how short Gilbert himself was.

"I am not in the mood for this today, potato breath!" she shouted, jabbing him in the chest with a well-manicured finger. "Get out or you'll feel the full force of the Italian Mafia!"

The idea of prissy, little Chiara Vargas drawing a gun on him was so comical Gilbert had to try very hard not to laugh in her face. Instead, he settled for raising his pale eyebrows at her and meeting her narrow-eyed gaze without flinching. Her eyes had small flecks of blue in them, when she was angry, he noticed.

"I'm shaking," he mocked her.

_If looks could kill,_ he thought wearily, watching her expression turn—if possible—even icier at his sarcastic tone. He saw her delicate hands twitch slightly as if she were itching to place them around his neck—and, he would later reflect, she probably would have if it hadn't been for the voice that interrupted them from behind him.

"What are_ you_ doing here?"

Gilbert barely had time to register that it was Lovino before Chiara had side stepped him and launched herself at her brother. Lovino, taken by such complete surprise, was tackled to the ground, his hat falling off and rolling away as the back of his head connected hard with the tile floor beneath them.

"OUCH! What the _hell,_ Chiara?!"

"bastardo! Ti odio! Vorrei che tu muoia!" Chiara screeched, her hands at Lovino's neck, knocking his head against the floor repeatedly, as Lovino clawed at her hands, squirming desperately in an attempt to throw her off.

"Get—off—me—what—the-hell!" he gasped out between blows to the head, though he could barely be heard over Chiara's shrieks in Italian.

It occurred to Gilbert that he should probably do something. If the rage on Chiara's face was anything to go by, Lovino was in serious danger, but he found the exchange too entertain to intervene. There was something very endearing about watching a tiny, Italian princess beat up the brat one of his best friends had raised.

Speak of the devil, here comes said best friend.

"Chi—HEY! What are you doing?!"

Gilbert looked up from the extreme display of sibling rivalry in time to see Antonio break into a run down the hall. The poor fool had probably been looking for Chiara, to inquire as to what was wrong and had happened upon her attempting to throttle the man he loved. How… weird.

"Chiara, stop it!" Antonio said, reaching down and attempting to pull her off her brother, but she had such a tight hold of Lovino that he was nearly lifted off the ground along with her.

"You _could_ help me!" Antonio shot over his shoulder at Gilbert, who was still standing there watching, his head tilted to the side in mild interest.

"Yeah, I could," Gilbert acknowledged. He chose not to, favoring watching the three of them struggle for several more seconds before Antonio succeeded in dragging a kicking and screaming Chiara away from her winded brother, who sat up rubbing his neck, eyeing his sister in the most loathsome way, Gilbert had ever seen.

"You are a psycho!" Lovino screamed at her, breathily.

"And you are a bastard! I hate you, Lovino, I hate you!"

Chiara was still fighting, tooth and nail, to get back at Lovino, apparently unaware of who was holding her back.

"What's this about?" Antonio had to shout over Chiara's continued shrieks of "I hate you!".

"I have no idea! She just attacked me!" said Lovino jumping back to his feet. "And what the hell are you doing?" he added to Gilbert who still stood silently, watching the exchange.

"Watching a cock fight, apparently."

"Chiara, why did you do that?" Antonio asked, though Gilbert doubted Chiara could hear him over her own screaming. "That's so mean of you to fight with someone for no reason."

Chiara suddenly went still, her yelling now only dying echoes in the hall. Gilbert was still bracing himself for what seemed an inevitable explosion when she spoke, quietly, her voice trembling slightly.

"Go ahead, take his side. Why wouldn't you? He's so damn perfect and I'm… I'm…."

"Insane?" Lovino offered, bitterly.

That appeared to be the final straw for Chiara; she wrenched herself out of Antonio's slackened grip and ran, ran past Lovino and Gilbert down the hall and out of sight, Gilbert certain he heard another sob as she passed.

"cazzo putanna," Lovino said, staring after her, before turning to meet Gilbert's gaze. "What were _you_ doing talking to her?" he asked, and Gilbert was surprised to hear a tone of defensiveness in his voice. Pretty interesting that he was suddenly eager to defend someone that had just tried to strangle him and whom he himself had called a fucking bitch, though he supposed he understood the sentiment. He hated his own sister at times but if anyone else dared touch her, he would murder them in cold blood.

"Setting out on the most arduous task of my life," he said bitterly.

"What are you talking about?"

"If I told you, I'd have to kill you."

"You and what army? It's not like you have one anymore."

Well, that was like salt in an old but still very painful wound. Seriously, what did Antonio see in this little bastard? …hadn't Gilbert seen Antonio leaving the hotel with Chiara not long ago? Why would he do that if he was so obviously smitten with Lovino? Gilbert glanced between the Spaniard and the Italian before face-palming as he pieced together what had happened: Antonio must have asked Chiara for advice on how to ask Lovino out. Of course Chiara had headed back to the hotel distraught and jumped on Lovino the moment she saw him. She _had_ spent the last three decades attempting to deny what was a World-wide known fact: that Antonio was in love with Lovino. Poor girl had just had the last of that small hope shattered. Gilbert almost felt sorry for her. Almost.

With a sigh he turned and started off in the direction Chiara had gone. He still had the stupid bet to think of, meaning he would have to start working his way into her good books if he wanted to have chance at winning this.

It took Gilbert so long to find her, he thought she may have returned to the World Meeting. Through a little applied logic, he reasoned that someone as preoccupied with appearance as her would never turn up at a meeting with make-up running down her face and she therefore had to be around somewhere. It wasn't like it mattered if he missed the meeting, after all, he thought with a small pang.

_Stop it, _he told himself firmly; he couldn't be thinking like that.

An hour of scouring the hotel yielded no results and he was wondering around outside, thinking he may just have to pop by Italy at a later time when the sound of soft sobs caught his ears. He narrowed his red eyes in the bright sunlight (his vision was really starting to get bad. Too bad he hated his glasses.) searching for the sources of the noise. And there she was, sitting beneath a tree, knees drawn up with her face buried in them sobbing uncontrollably in the summer air. Gilbert took a deep breath to prepare himself. Well… here goes.

Quietly, he approached her, his soft, grassy footsteps not reaching her over her own uncontrollable hiccups and cries. He stood beside her, looking down at her for a moment before he spoke softly.

"You shouldn't cry over people who don't deserve your tears," he said gravely. It was something his sister, Maria, had told him after the incident with Elizabeta and Gilbert thought it would apply quite well here.

Chiara started and looked up at him, hastily wiping her eyes on the back of her hand.

"Are you _following_ me?!" she asked outraged.

"Yup," Gilbert said lightly, moving to sit down next to her, pointedly ignoring the look he was receiving from her—like he was a worm in one of her precious tomatoes.

"And why would that be?" She demanded. At least his presence seemed to distract her from her heartache, Gilbert thought dully.

"I know a thing or two about heartbreak."

He said it matter-of-factly but Chiara sensed some deeply hidden pain there, not that she cared. It was of course common knowledge that loss was a part of Gilbert Beilschmidt's life. Even in her own misery, she had to reflect on how lucky she was compared to him. Sure, she had just had her heart ripped out by the man she'd loved for over a century and she could never live up to the rest of her family, but at least she was still a Nation. This thought made her feel a little bit better. She chose to keep this to her self.

The silence was awkward, but Chiara had no idea how to break it. Gilbert however, didn't seem bothered by it; he was staring at the ground, a faraway look on his face as if lost in thought. It took Chiara several minutes to realize the fact that there was silence at all was extremely out of character for the man sitting next to her—she spent more time with the German family than she would have liked to and knew he was usually a ball of energy, bouncing off the walls and babbling away about how awesome he was. In spite of herself, she found herself wondering what had him in such a deep trance. Not that it was her business. Not that she cared about him. She didn't even know him. But she had to admit it was odd to see the conceited Gilbert look so… lifeless. Perhaps the tragedies of his life were finally catching up to him.

After nearly a half hour, Gilbert sighed and got to his feet, offering a hand to her, which she ignored, choosing to remain seated as she was in the fetal position.

"Come on," he said. "I'll buy you a drink."

That was unexpected.

"And why would I accept a drink from you?" she asked coldly.

"You'd rather sit here and wallow in self-pity?"

"Said the man with the bad hangover."

Gilbert wasn't sure why but he laughed, regretting it instantly as it made his head throb horribly.

"Touche. But seriously, come on."

Chiara crossed her arms over her chest, and turned her head, eyes closed and nose in the air, pointedly ignoring the offered hand. Gilbert rolled his eyes; it was really a wonder anyone could stand to be around this woman. Here he was being uncharacteristically nice and all she could do was scoff at him. What a bitch. He was very tempted to shout "Fine! Just sit here and rot for all I care!" but he bit his tongue. He'd never get her into bed like that.

"I'll buy you a tomato soup," he tempted.

"I'm not my stupid brother," she snapped. "You can't bribe me with tomatoes."

Gilbert rolled his eyes.

"Pasta then. Whatever."

"Why the sudden fixation with dining with me?"

"Come on. A pretty girl like you? Who wouldn't want to treat you?"

"Are you being sarcastic?" she asked, moodily.

"Not entirely ."

It wasn't as though she wasn't honestly attractive, with her olive skin, wild curly hair with the weird cowlick and enormous brown eyes. Hell, if he hadn't known she was a raging bitch, he might have considered pursuing her for real. Unfortunately, beauty was only skin deep.

She jumped to her feet and scoffed at him, arms still folded across her chest.

"Well that's just dandy, because you couldn't pay me enough to go _anywhere _with you!"

_Ditto! _he very nearly shouted. It wasn't worth it. No amount of money was worth having to put up with _this_ little ray of sunshine. He would march right up to Francis after the world meeting and tell him he won, hand over the money right there. He didn't want to go near Chiara Vargas with a fifty foot pole, much less his five meters of awesome.

And yet…

The gloating image of Francis's smug face, laughing at his defeat made him hesitate as he heard the words in his head.

"Ohonhon, I knew you could not do it. You have simply lost the _bad touch." _

_I haven't lost anything!_ Gilbert told the Francis in his head, furiously. He was Gilbert Beilschmidt, the awesome Gilbert Beilschmidt, a third of the infamous Bad Touch Trio and nothing if not determined. He could get anyone he wanted!... except Elizabeta… but screw her! It was her loss, right? Right. He would prove her _and_ Francis wrong, prove to himself he still had the Bad Touch charm. And he would do it by screwing this girl if it was the last thing he ever did!

_Which it very well may be, _a voice he hated, commented lightly. No. Don't think like that. Focus on the task at hand, only the task at hand. Convince her to go somewhere with you, treat her, use the Bad Touch Charm. You'll have to move quickly if you want to win this bet.

"Hey! Bastard! I'm talking to you!"

Gilbert gave his head a small shake to bring himself back to the present. Oh. So she had been talking.

"Why don't we finish this conversation over an early dinner?" he asked smoothly… or as smoothly as was possible considering who we're talking about here.

"I said no!"

"Oh, come on, Chichi, don't say no to free food."

"…WHAT DID YOU CALL ME?!"

"Your name's a mouthful. Come on. I know an Italian place not to far from here that's pretty decent."

"First of all I _never_ trust Germans to accurately judge Italian food!"

"Prussian," Gilbert corrected through gritted teeth. It was a common mistake but it always irked him. "How about a drink?"

"Am I not speaking a language you understand? _Nein." _

"You're sexy when you speak German."

"AGH!"

She turned angrily on her heel and began to stomp off in the opposite, direction. Gilbert followed her, his hands in his pockets, smirking. What had he been thinking? Seeing her this steamed made it all worth it. He loved pissing people off! And admittedly, she was rather adorable when she was angry, with her cheeks flushed red and puffed up. He shook his head slightly. He was starting to sound like Antonio.

"How about this? Let me buy you a drink and I'll stop following you."

This one seemed to peak her interest. She stopped at least and turned to glare icily over her shoulder at him.

"You just don't take no for an answer, do you?" she snarled.

He met her gaze unashamedly.

"I'm known for it," he said lightly, still fixing her with that cocky grin.

She exhaled deeply through her nose before turning to face him more fully.

"Fine. If it'll get you off my back you can buy me a damned drink. But I'm ordering the most expensive thing they have to offer!"

"I wouldn't expect anything less of you, _princess_," filling his voice with as much irony as possible on the last word.

She threw him a dirty look but said nothing.

The walk to the bar was… well "awkward" wasn't the right word but it wasn't precisely pleasant. Chiara glared stonily at the ground passing beneath her feet and Gilbert watched her, smirking as she huffed and fumed along. Twice, Chiara snapped at him to knock it off but Gilbert ignored her. They stumbled into the bar, shivering slightly as the temperature changed rapidly around them and they took seats at the bar. The heavy-set barkeep greeted them enthusiastically.

"What can I get you?" He asked smiling toothily at Chiara.

"I need a bottle of the most expensive wine you carry."

"Seriously?" the bar keep asked through a laugh.

"It's on _him,_" she explained nodding slightly in Gilbert's direction.

Gilbert rolled his eyes but said nothing. Bribery, was an affective persuasion method, especially in dating, he reminded himself. Vaugly, he wondered what he could bribe her with to get straight into bed. The idea was squashed as quickly as it had come; Chiara was far too classy sleep with someone for profit. Damn it all.

"Here," said the barkeep handing Chiara a bottle of red wine. "That's the best we've got."

"How much?"

"326 dollars?"

That sounded like a lot.

"How many Euros is that?"

"250."

"_Seriously?" _he said incredulously, grabbing the bottle out of the barkeep's hands and scrutinizing it. "What, is it made from gold?"

"That's really not a lot," Chiara said off-handily. "But I wouldn't expect someone as classless as you to know anything about fine wine."

"I'm buying it for you, aren't I?" Gilbert said snappishly, reaching for his wallet.

Chiara said nothing as Gilbert pulled a card from his wallet and handed it to the barkeep.

"Hold on to this one, sweetheart," the barkeep said swiping Gilbert's card. "You clearly mean a lot to him."

Chiara rolled her eyes and Gilbert scoffed as the barkeep handed the card back to its owner and he put it back in his wallet.

"There," said Chiara venomously, "you bought me a drink. Now, I'm leaving."

And before Gilbert could so much as call her back she had slid off her barstool and hurried out the door, leaving Gilbert starring open-mouthed after her, not tearing his eyes from the spot she had disappeared from until the light chuckling of the barkeep broke through his revere.

"That's one feisty broad you got there," he commented with a smile. Gilbert just lay his head down on the bar in defeat. Good God, what had he gotten himself into?

* * *

A/N: Short. Very short. And I don't like the ending :/

"Chichi" is supposed to be pronounced like "Kiki". And yes, Gilbert will continue to use this little nickname.

Leave a review, my lovelies, if you want to read more.


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